


Just a Few Basics

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Friendship, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-22
Updated: 2006-03-22
Packaged: 2019-02-02 09:03:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12723591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Boys will be boys.





	Just a Few Basics

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

"Jack! Are you all right?" 

It takes a few seconds 'til I'm able to answer that one. I'm a little stunned. Not sure if it's due to the pain or the shock. Probably a little of both. I'm also a lot proud of our boy over there who just damn near KO'd his hand-to-hand combat instructor, a trained specialist, a Colonel in the military even. 

It's true. Believe it or not, I was just knocked on my ass by the good Dr. Jackson. Way to go, Dannyboy. 

"Are you okay?" 

Am I okay? Of course I'm okay. Well, except for the side of my face that's hurtin' like a bitch. And, I guess my pride isn't doing so hot either, especially considering Carter and Teal'c happened to show up just in time for the show. Other than that... "I'm fine." 

"I'm so sorry, Jack! I swear, I didn't mean to hit you!" 

"Lucky shot, Daniel." I growl for effect. I'd really like to tell him it was a **great** shot, but that would sorta be defeating my whole purpose here. 

"You said you were gonna block it!" 

That I did, Daniel, that I did. "Well, ya coulda waited 'til I was ready." 

It's really pointless to admit I shoulda been ready. We've already gone over the rules, on the numerous occasions that I've knocked him on his ass. 

"But you said..." 

"I know, I know. Just forget it, okay? Help me up off the damn floor." 

Not quite sure if he trusts me, he cautiously reaches for my hand and gives it a tug. When he realizes that there were no ulterior motives in my plea for a hand up, he mumbles again, "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to--" 

"Daniel, what did I tell you about the apologizing thing?" 

He hesitates before answering, glances guiltily at Sam and mutters, "A sign of weakness. Only wimps and girls-" In mid-sentence his eyes go huge, like they're about pop out of his head. "Whoa! I did that?" 

Oh yeah. I can already tell my eye is swollen. In fact, I feel like Rocky before the bloodletting. I have to grin, even though it hurts like hell, 'cause Daniel's face is lit up like the sun. I can tell he's mighty impressed with his handiwork even though he's trying his damnedest to wipe the smile off his face. "Lucky shot," I remind him sternly as I stroll over to the big mirror to get a closer look. Sweet. 

"Sir? Maybe you should let somebody take a look at that?" Carter suggests dutifully. The smirk on her face, however, suggests something else entirely. 

"I think I'll live, Carter." 

"Jack, maybe she's right." Ah, poor Danny. I can see the debate going on in his head. He's not quite sure on whether or not he should be feeling guilty over this. He can't take his eyes off of mine, specifically the one that's rapidly swelling and turning a lovely shade of violet. His expression is transmuting back and forth, between uncertainty and amazement. Then, just like that, the debate is over. 

And the winner is: Guilt. 

Daniel's feeling guilty for not feeling guilty. 

"Jack, I really am sorry." 

I'd roll my eyes, but it would probably pain me more than Daniel, so I'll have to settle for a more straightforward response. "Daniel? Shut up." 

Sufficiently admonished, he closes his mouth and nods. 

Now, if one looks on the bright side, there are positive aspects to this particular round of guilt. First and foremost: the guilt that Daniel is experiencing right now is a whole 'nuther species of guilt. It's not your typical guilt. Not like that of a few, short months ago, when he'd have been a complete wreck over having caused bodily injury to another person -- especially yours' truly. 

This is more of a, I dunno, Phantom Guilt. Which is a good thing, see, because deep down, he knows that this whole thing was just an accident, not his fault -- mine, if anyone's. The hitch is that he can't quite absolve himself for feeling a little uncomfortable with the fact that he's finding it way cool that he just knocked someone on their ass; that he caused bodily injury to another person -- especially yours' truly. 

I'll have to cut him a break on the Phantom Guilt, since this is probably the first time he's ever decked anyone. At least he's discovering that hey, sometimes a little release just feels good and you have to go with it. 

So, as far as I'm concerned, the positive is outweighing the negative all over the place. Besides, a little guilt can even be a positive thing. For example: as long as this shiner is shining, I can count on Daniel Jackson to be penitently obedient to any friendly or helpful suggestions or advice that I may have to offer -- on either side of the Gate. The advantages to that alone are very, well, positive. For me, anyway. 

And then there are the little things, like: Daniel buying me dinner at a nice restaurant tonight. Daniel fetching all the snacks and beverages while we watch the Olympic coverage this weekend. The only way this could get any better would be if Gretsky was playing for our team, instead of the Canadians. Okay, okay. I know what this might look like, but believe me I'm only doing this all for Daniel's own good. 

Yep, a little guilt can be good, indeed. In fact, life can be good, it **is** good and it seems to be getting better all the time, right up until -- 

"Daniel Jackson, you have injured yourself." 

\-- the very moment that all of my pleasurable thoughts and intentions are suddenly and mercilessly ripped away. 

Yeah, apparently our favorite Jaffa could care less about the possibility that his commanding officer is injured. I mean, for all he knows I could have a concussion, a skull fracture even. Leave it to Teal'c to totally disregard my well being in favor of making over Daniel's little boo-boo. Thanks for the sympathy, buddy. 

"Oh my God, Daniel!" Sam chimes in next and this time, I can't help but roll my eyes as all my hopes and dreams just disappear, vanish. Poof! Gone. 

I do a quick mental evaluation before daring to actually chance a glance at what the other two are making such a fuss over. It couldn't be that bad. But, lest we forget, this is Daniel and one can never be too sure where he's concerned. So, I turn to face the music -- Taps, comes to mind -- and holy crap! Wouldn't ya know it! 

"Daniel! Dammit, I can't believe you! Why didn't you say something?" Jesus, the kid's knuckles and fingers -- his whole hand is swelling like a balloon. "Come on, tough guy," I say, guiding him out of the room before he has the chance to protest. 

Hopefully, my own injury will work in my favor when Dr. Fraiser gets a look at Daniel's hand. Well, a guy can hope, can't he?

* * *

There's this song that keeps running through my mind about rainy wedding days and free advice not taken and other cheery stuff like that. The fact that I can't stand the song and it will not stop playing over and over and over in my head is only the topping on a very unpleasant-tasting dessert. 

I suppose one might venture to say that it's all some sort of cosmic justice, or something like that. Who knows? Maybe it is. 

Anyway, we're back to square one in the Basic Training routine. Not the full military version, of course. More like the Cliff-notes version, just a few basics, via the Jack O'Neill alternative method. AKA: Real men drink beer, not wine coolers; they might have kleenex, but never tissues; they eat steak, play cards and watch lots of hockey. Okay, we had a ways to go on that last one, but the point is: All those hours, down the drain. 

Daniel is all snuggled in on my couch. I know because I put him there -- insisted on it, in fact. Then, I added the blankets and pillows for good measure. He's looking just cute as a button and about twelve years old, watching television, while I -- get this -- **I** gopher this and gopher that, fetching whatever his little heart desires. Ironic, huh? Go figure. 

The really annoying part of it is that he's not playing along like he's supposed to. He's not being a good little soldier. Huh, imagine that. I can't understand why, but for some reason, he just doesn't seem to be grasping his role of this game; he doesn't seem to understand that he's supposed to be using my guilt to his advantage and thus, my absolution. 

What makes it worse is that this guilt is not the simple Phantom Guilt, like Daniel had. No, this is the real thing. I feel like total shit over what happened and Daniel is so not helping me out here. He refuses to get with the program. 

Here I am trying to do the penitent obedience thing and he's ruining everything by lying there with his arm propped up on the pillows, exactly like I told him to, sipping the hot cocoa I insisted he have and watching the Olympics, not the Discovery channel. That might sound like he's playing, but he's not. You see, he hasn't **asked** for a single thing. 

It might help to be able to imagine that he's doing this all on purpose, intending for me to feel worse, not better. Like, maybe this is a form of payback because he was suspecting that I would have taken advantage of his guilt if the situation were reversed, which it almost was. But, Daniel has those big, blue innocent-looking eyes and it's nearly impossible to look at him and suspect him of any sort of evil intentions. It would sure make things easier if I could, though. 

What I don't get is, how can someone so smart be so totally oblivious to another person's issues? Wait a minute, did I just say that? **Issues**? Oh boy, what I meant was: concerns, not issues. I don't have **issues** , well, maybe I do in the military sense of the word, but that's all. Issues? Oy! 

"Hey there, Danny. How ya doin'?" 

"I'm fine, Jack. Just fine. **Really**." 

"Ya hungry? Do you want that last piece of pie yet?" 

"Uhh...no thanks. You go right ahead and have it. I couldn't eat a thing. In fact, I don't think I'll be hungry for...weeks, actually." 

"Oh. Okay. Well, how about-" 

"I'm not thirsty yet, either." He cuts me off, waving his mug and smirking a little. I wasn't even gonna ask him that, anyway. "And I don't want to watch the Discovery channel, or the History channel, or any other channel. I like the Olympics. The Olympics are fine. In fact, why don't grab **yourself** something and come and sit down and watch them with me, Jack?" 

That's not how it's supposed to work. Okay, maybe it's time for a new game plan here. Obviously, he has no intention of making this easy, so if that's what he wants, I can be flexible. "Okay. If you're sure --" 

"I don't need anything." 

"Okay." 

Daniel shifts on the couch, making room for me to sit down. I scowl at him when he neglects to keep his arm elevated. He shoots me a nasty look that makes me proud, then takes his sweet time arranging the pillows. After a few minutes of standing there, watching his feeble, one-handed attempts, I take over the task myself and in no time have him and his hand comfortable once again. I sit down and try to relax a little. I guess we'll play it by ear. 

For a while, we sit there companionably watching the Luge competition. I almost have myself convinced that I'm back in control of the situation. I'm doing all of this for Daniel's sake, indulging him. Everything is just peachy, working out quite nicely, thank you very much. 

Naturally, that's about the time Daniel decides to hand over the bowl of untouched popcorn I got for him, along with the remote control -- bastard. There goes peachy, right out the window. The worst part is that he's looking up at me, smiling a big, sappy smile. 

"You're a real pain in the ass. You know that, don't you?" 

He shrugs, shaking his head like he can't believe what a pain in the ass **I** am, but those damn eyes of his are saying something else altogether. They're all appreciative and adoring -- like he's thinking I'm the best thing since the discovery of the Pyramids. Like he'd rather be here, sitting on my couch, watching the Olympics with me, than anywhere else. 

You know, being a strategist and all, you'd think I'd have realized from the get-go that I never even stood a chance in this. 

"There's a Godzilla marathon next weekend." Impressive, he actually managed to say that entire sentence, without the slightest hint of insincerity. "Or we could watch 'Starship Troopers'." 

"Laying it on a bit thick now, aren't we?" 

"Just being helpful. How about 'My Stepmother's an Alien'?" 

"Cute. You ever consider taking this act on the road?" 

"'Aliens' part four?" 

"I'm sure there's gotta be some **aliens** out there somewhere who share your unique sense of humor." 

"Actually, that's something I've been thinking about for some time now. I already have everything planned out. You'll have to come along too, of course. I mean, because without you, there is no act." 

"Of course. And don't' forget about Teal'c. He's got a million Jaffa jokes just waitin' for the right audience." 

"We couldn't leave Sam behind either." 

"No. She wouldn't like that. She might...cry or something." 

"Yeah. Or kick your ass." 

"That too." 

"Well, then it's all settled. A few more years with the SGC and --" 

"-- we'll head out on our own." 

"An adventure. I could even--" 

"-- write your memoirs." 

"On the Road, by Jack O'Neill?" 

"That's uh...nice, but maybe we should think of something else." 

"'Lonesome Traveler'?" 

"Trying to steal the spotlight already?" 

"'An Officer and a Gentleman'?" 

"Look! Isn't that Wayne Gretsky?" 

Not in that little leotard thing. "You know, that was downright cruel and unusual." 

"Uh-huh, I learned from the Master." 

"Aww...shucks." Maybe he can be taught, after all.


End file.
